Hitch
by Senuna
Summary: Neal had never been afraid of heights, at least not that he could remember. Yet here he was, stuck on this stupid ladder, with Peter trying to coax him to safety. He was never going to live this down. Set somewhere in first season. Rated T to be safe.


**Disclaimer:** Oh, how I wish they were mine.

 **Summary:** Neal had never been afraid of heights, at least not that he could remember. Yet here he was, stuck on this stupid ladder, with Peter trying to coax him to safety. He was never going to live this down. Set somewhere in first season. Rated T to be safe.

 **A/N:** Recently I've become quite attached to the show _White Collar_. This might have something to do with my new Netflix account (bye bye, good grades), and has definitely something to do with my favourite movie _Catch Me If You Can_. I can't help but feel that White Collar is the off-spring of this fantastic Steven Spielberg production. Regardless, this one-shot is the definite off-spring of my new-found addiction.

Enjoy!

* * *

To Neal Caffrey, being on the other side of the chase was a brand new experience.

He never expected it to be more exhilarating, hunting instead of being hunted. His leather shoes hit the pavement relentlessly, and Neal silently thanked every morning he'd dragged himself out of bed to go running. His suspect was probably not so thankful. Neither was Peter, who he'd lost a few blocks earlier.

He was _so_ going to rub that in later.

Their suspect was an old friend of Mozzie's, only they really weren't friends anymore after the guy had stolen one of Mozzie's beloved Van Gogh's. Mozzie had tipped the FBI off out of spite, and it was up to Neal and Peter to recover the theft. Or give it back to his oldest friend, po-tay-to po-tah-to.

The promise of a fancy red wine waiting for him at home made the chase even more satisfying. Neal could barely make out the dirty blond hair disappearing around another corner, and he pushed his burning legs to go faster. The alley was small and glowing red in the afternoon sun, bags filled with trash lying forgotten next to a winding staircase.

Hang on, staircase… _There!_

Neal almost stumbled over his own feet, the suspect's heavy footsteps fading away above his head. Either the man had free-running experience that Neal wasn't aware of, or this was just a really _stupid_ escape plan. He quickly prayed for the latter as he latched onto the railing, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time.

A fresh breeze greeted him at the top of the stairs, comfortably gliding between his suit jacket and sweat-soaked dress-shirt. His heart was hammering against his chest— _so much for working out_ —and all his senses were on high alert. The tiles were too greasy to distinguish fresh footprints from old ones, the wind too loud to alert someone else's presence, and the roof too full of containers for suspects to hide behind.

Neal dragged his hands through his hair, frustration welling up in his chest. He was just about to grab his cell-phone to call Peter when movement on the other side of the roof caught his eye. Something tall, something that looked suspiciously like…

 _…Oh_ you've _got_ to be kidding me.

A bright red ladder, which looked way too new to be a lucky discovery, swayed in the air before falling down. Neal was already running before hearing the _clunk!_ of the ladder hitting tiles, probably on another roof. He quickly dialled Peter's number while dodging his way between tall containers.

"Neal! Where the hell are you?!"

 _Always the sunshine_. "I'm closing in on our suspect! I'm on a roof, close to—Peter, you know where I am!"

The voice on the other side of the line chuckled, and Neal recognized the sound of Peter's car-door slamming shut. An engine came to life soon after. "Whatever you do, just don't lose him! And Neal, be _careful_ ," Peter replied, stressing the last word. Neal could almost picture the grumpy face that'd accompany it.

"Aren't I always?" Neal grinned, stuffing his phone back in his suit jacket. However, the grin was quickly wiped from his face when he spotted the thief on the roof of the building next to him. On the other side of the _ladder_. The suspect was apparently stupid enough to leave the ladder right there for Neal to climb it, or that was part of his not so stupid plan.

"Alright Neal, _cowboy up_ ," he whispered to himself, but saying Peter's words didn't give him the confidence he'd hoped for. Neal took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress-shirt. He tested the ladder for stability, swallowing hard when he saw the ground below. Third floor. So probably, around 30 feet high. Fantastic.

He could wait for Peter, but that would mean losing the suspect and he _really_ didn't have time for this. Was this even in the job description? If not, and he was pretty sure it wasn't, then Peter definitely owed him a big and overpriced meal. Preferably at Jean Georges.

Neal took the first step, carefully putting his weight on the red ladder. He scanned the other rooftop and he thanked his lucky stars when nothing happened, so he took another step. And another. The ladder creaked quietly but held under his weight. Neal was almost halfway across, his arms stretched wide, when he made a terrible mistake.

He looked down.

The dread he felt when a gun was in his face was nothing like the paralysing fear that gripped his torso, squeezing his lungs together in a vice-like grip. His legs trembled for a second and Neal tried to breathe, he really did, only he could be seconds away from splitting his head on the pavement below. For some reason, that realization didn't comfort him much.

He'd never been afraid of heights, at least not that he could remember. As a child he wasn't much of a tree-climber, had always seemed too pointless, but as an adult he had breakfast on a rooftop every day, _for God's sake_. That had to count for something, right? Yet there was no denying the way his head swam or why Neal couldn't seem to move forward, towards safety.

"Neal!"

Hearing Peter behind him almost had Neal crying right there and then. He tried to turn around, at least look over his shoulder at Peter, when the ladder groaned more loudly than before. Neal's heart skipped a beat and he froze, waiting for the sound to pass.

"Neal," Peter tried again, his voice softer this time, "Look at me kid, you need to turn around and look at me."

"I can't, Peter," Neal croaked, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. Another drop of sweat rolled down his spine, pooling in the dip of his back. His ears tried to detect any sign of other FBI agents present. The sound of Peter's footsteps coming closer confirmed they were alone, and Neal felt himself relax slightly. Being the joke of the office was really not at the top of his Christmas list right now.

"Neal, listen to me. Unless you want a rescue heli coming over I really need you to turn around, _right_ now. You can do this, kid."

Neal swallowed, his mouth uncomfortably dry. He knew Peter was right, he needed to get himself off this ladder or he'd go on a not-so-fun ride with the heli. Neal forced himself to square his shoulders, taking a deep breath to relieve some of the tightness in his chest. He shuffled on the ladder. Right foot, check. Left foot— _careful_ _Neal_ —check. Finally, _finally_ , he was able to look up, his body having done an agonizingly slow 180 degree turn.

Peter looked pale, his face strained, but he grinned crookedly at Neal when their eyes met. "That's it Neal, nice and slow. Just a couple of steps more, you're alright." It would've sounded stupid if Neal's breathing wasn't hitching so often.

Sirens wailed in the distance, and Neal forced his feet to move towards Peter. What felt like an eternity was probably only a minute or so, until he felt Peter's hand wrap around his left bicep and pull Neal to solid ground. He nearly collapsed against the agent, his legs suddenly turning into jelly in the aftermath of the adrenaline rush.

"Easy, kid, _easy_ , you're alright," Peter said, making Neal feel like a child who had gotten in way over his head. Which probably wasn't that far from the truth. Peter had steered him away from the edge of the roof, settling Neal on the ground with his back pressed into a container. His right hand still gripped Neal's shoulder, while his left hand fished for his phone in his pocket to dial Jones. They exchanged some words—short and efficient, something about Jones catching the suspect—before Peter hung up again. Neal clenched his fists, relieved to feel the rough concrete scraping them.

"I leave you alone for ten minutes, _ten_ _minutes_. Only you, Caffrey," Peter breathed, his right hand still gripping Neal's shoulder, as if to confirm himself that Neal hadn't just done something so incredibly stupid. Again.

"Promise you won't tell anyone?" Neal tried weakly, the pounding of his heart finally slowing down to a normal rate.

"I won't, Neal," Peter replied casually, his left hand wrapping around Neal's left elbow to pull him to his feet. They exchanged grins, a comfortable silence settling between them as they walked back to the winding stairs. Yet Neal was still Neal, and he really couldn't help himself. "Peter Burke, cutting me slack? Is this because I outran you, old man?"

"On second thought, Diana will _love_ this."

Neal groaned.

* * *

 **A/N:** That's it folks! This was just a little plot bunny that popped into my head when I was walking down a flight of stairs a few days ago. I am not so fond of heights myself—and that's understating it—so I felt like making poor Neal feel exactly the same. This might have been inspired by a personal climbing incident we are definitely not getting into today. Or any day, for that matter.

Either way, I really hope this wasn't too off character! Let me know what you think, reviews make me feel all gooey inside.

Love, Yve


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